


Unmerciful

by voleuse



Category: Alias, Angel: the Series, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Crossover, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-15
Updated: 2004-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 15:52:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's not mere currency.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unmerciful

**Author's Note:**

> I applaud any who can fit this in a timeline. Headings taken from JC Chasez's "Mercy."

_i. blood runs through me_

Lauren is at the grocery store when her cell phone rings. More accurately, she's trying to decide between Chunky Monkey and Cherry Garcia, and cursing herself for wondering which one Michael would like better.

Being someone's wife is like being possessed, she thinks, and then answers her phone.

"Darling." Sark's voice is tinny in her ear, and utterly out of place in the frozen foods aisle.

"Yes?" she clips, opening the freezer door and grabbing both pints of ice cream.

"We need to meet. The aforementioned location."

Then he hangs up.

She sighs and puts the ice cream back. She probably won't be home for a while.

_ii. the affliction to my pain_

She thinks the parking lot of Disneyland is an odd place for meetings. Also, she had to pay for the privilege, and she's tempted to ask Sark if her expenses will be covered.

She wonders when he took charge of their division, because he never seems to solicit her advice in anything, and she has yet to give _him_ any orders at all.

Except in bed, of course, but her relations within the bedroom have never been indicative of her interactions outside of it.

He hands her floppy disk. "The files provide you with details for your mission. I look forward to seeing results."

Then he gets back into his car and drives off.

She wishes she had asked for that eight dollars, just to spite him, but then again, she's not sure if he keeps actual money in his wallet, or if he has anything less than fifty dollar bills.

She decides she has time enough to drop by Haagen Daaz.

_iii. the skies will fall_

She ends up, of course, in yet another nightclub, strobe lights punctuating the pulse of the music. She weaves her way through the crowd, drawing a few appreciative leers at her leather ensemble, but for the most part, she's ignored.

It's unusual enough that she pauses to observe the less important people in the crowd, follows the collective gaze to the stage. There's a girl onstage, golden and writhing, whispering obscenely as the music thrums.

Then Lauren's target crosses her periphreal vision. She takes a final look at the girl onstage, who's contorted herself in a pleasantly vulgar way.

Back to work.

_iv. inside of a hurricane_

The second stage of her mission was simple: After retrieving the document, have it translated.

Unfortunately, the only translator fit for the job works for a law firm in Los Angeles. She's able to get the document to his desk through various channels, but getting it back is a bit more difficult.

One day, she puts on a less-expensive-than-usual suit and stiletto heels. She ties her hair back in a ponytail, and strolls into the lobby of Wolfram and Hart with a professional smile.

Not pausing by any of the receptionists' desks, she walks directly to his office, knocking on the door discreetly before entering.

He looks up from his desk. "Yes."

"Hello." She flattens her accent, gestures toward a pile of folders. "Files and records asked me to pick up a document. The Italian one, I think they said."

"The Italian--" He frowns for a moment, sorts through the pile, then produces the Rambaldi translation. "Here it is." He holds it out, and she steps forward and takes it from his hand.

She's almost out the door when he calls out. "You don't look familiar. Are you new to the firm?"

She smiles over her shoulder. "I'm just a temp."

He nods, but he's already gone back to his work.

_v. sell my soul_

Lauren couldn't figure out why such an important branch was located in Sun Valley, but knowing who ran it, she didn't dare argue. The question must have shown on her face, though, because Lilah Morgan smirks as she enters her office.

"It's the closest thing to my personal vision of hell," she quips, ignoring Lauren's greeting. "They thought it was ironic."

Lauren hesitates in the doorway, clutching the files to her chest.

"Come in," Lilah beckons. "Shut the door."

"Thank you." Lauren seats herself, lounges in the undoubtedly expensive chair provided, slides the files across Lilah's desk.

"You didn't have any problems retrieving the document?" She's very carefully paging through the files, and doesn't look at Lauren as she asks.

"He never suspected a thing," she responds. "Just as you predicted."

"Good." Lilah shuts the file. "Are you hungry?"

"Not exactly."

_vi. why do I fight_

Lilah's bedroom is shadowed, the curtains screening out the sunny afternoon. The air is cool, and a nearby neighbor's radio is playing much too loudly outside. On the rough carpet lie the components of two finely tailored suits and the best of Victoria's Secret.

Lauren lies splayed across the foot of the bed, sated. Lilah hums, rolls over and grins at Lauren.

"I should go," Lauren murmurs.

"Yeah." Lilah strokes a hand up Lauren's thigh. "Do me a favor when you get back to L.A.?"

_vii. break the law_

The complex is almost labyrinthine, but she manages to find the designated apartment. She knocks on the door, but turns, so her face is obscured to whoever looks through the peephole.

A man opens the door, looks at her speculatively. "Can I help you?"

She tilts her head. "Lindsey McDonald?"

He nods. "Yeah?"

She arches her back as she reaches for the gun tucked into her waistband. Whip-fast, she points it at him. "Lilah says hello." The gun coughs, muffled by a silencer, and she watches as blood pours from the place where his heart used to be.

After a furtive glance down the hallway, she enters his apartment, dragging his body inside.

She waits.

His body twitches, and she strips his shirt off efficiently, uses it to wipe the blood from his chest. She watches, fascinated, as the wound heals itself, and Lindsey begins to breathe again.

He opens his eyes and sees her.

"So it's true," she says. "You did take the Rambaldi formula. We weren't sure."

"Surprise." He sits up, wincing. "Now get the fuck out of my house."

She smirks, tosses his bloodstained shirt onto his lap. "Sorry about the mess."

She makes sure not to turn her back as she leaves.

_viii. it's the insanity_

She leaves a message for Sark, arranging a meeting. She arrives at the club early, slides into a booth with the faint hope of, for once, seeing _him_ in a provacative leather outfit.

She's been there for half an hour when a young man slides into the booth, a wide smile plastered across his face, and a couple of burly men hovering protectively nearby. "Hi," he chirps. "Are you expecting somebody?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Yes, as a matter of fact." Lets her gaze trail over his broad shoulders, down his bare, ridiculously sculpted arms. "But I don't mind the company."

He's silent for a moment, watching her. When she doesn't speak, he smiles. "You don't recognize me, do you?"

"Should I?" She runs the profiles of business associates and/or terrorists through her mind. No match.

"It's cool." A song, heavy with synthesizers and bass, starts to play, and he smiles altogether differently for a moment before returning his attention to her. "So what's a beautiful woman like you doing in a place like this?" Then he winces. "Sorry."

She grins, despite herself. "It's all right." She's in a generous mood. His seeming lack of artifice is refreshing. Plus, the arms.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Lauren shakes her head, but impulsively, slips her foot out of its sandal and slides it up his calf. Laughs at the expression on his face, and slides her foot further, until--

"God!" His hands clench into fists, and she strokes his erection delicately. Wonders if he's resilient as Sark.

Who, she realizes, is standing five feet from her table, ignoring the boy's bodyguards with an ease that speaks of contempt.

She leaves her foot in its place, smiles as seductively as possible. "Julian."

"Sorry to interrupt." He's dressed impeccably, as usual, and she tamps down a flare of disappointment. He glances down, smirking as he watches the boy thrust artlessly against the sole of her foot. "Should I come back later?"

"No, that's all right." She withdraws, stands up. Leans back down to give the boy an eyeful of cleavage and a ravishing kiss. "It was nice meeting you," she whispers in his ear, and then she walks away from the table, hips swaying.

_ix. I pray one day_

They're barely out of the club and around the corner before Sark grabs her hips, slams her against the wall, and captures her lips, biting them before he soothes with his tongue.

She rolls her body against him, unbuckling his belt as he shoves his hands under her blouse, unfastening button and zipper as he yanks her skirt up. She wraps a leg around his hips as he thrusts into her, and she grimaces with pleasure, watches as a drunken girl gapes at them from the end of sidewalk.

The brick scrapes against her bare neck, and Sark mutters something against her shoulder. She doesn't catch it, but she decides it's not important, snakes a hand between them to rub against her clit.

She bites the collar of his shirt as she comes, and he stifles his own groan against her breast soonafter.

_x. I need mercy_

The next morning, she's treating herself to a pedicure at the spa when her cell phone rings. The beautician frowns, but stays silent.

"Hello?"

"Lauren, hey." Vaughn's voice sounds tinny in her ear, and almost unfamiliar.

"Michael." She mentally reviews her calendar, remembers he was in Honduras for the past two days. "I'm glad you came back safely." They never discuss business over the phone. "When will you be home?"

"Tonight, after a meeting." A debriefing, he means. "Do you want me to pick up a movie on my way back?"

She smiles. "I'll pick up some ice cream."


End file.
